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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25175503">The Words We Bleed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyabbey/pseuds/simplyabbey'>simplyabbey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Ben's diet is questionable, Dark Rey, Dark Reylo, F/M, M/M, Reylo - Freeform, Slow Burn, Well - Freeform, as pure as it can get, dark wonderland - Freeform, rey goes dark but only a little, shape shifting, the story is dark but their love is pure</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:41:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,866</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25175503</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyabbey/pseuds/simplyabbey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt by the lovely Fran (aka GalacticIdiots on Twitter and Tumblr).</p>
<p>Rey can't remember anything before the night she was found asleep in the woods with no one but a pale, silver moth at her side. Believing it to be a childhood fantasy, Rey is shocked to find the creature in the woods again eighteen years later, and this time with a broken wing. But when the moth suddenly morphs into a beautiful, devilish man with a broken arm, she's launched into a world of intense beauty, dark deceit, and twisted lies. She may find everything she's been searching for, but the price may be more than she can bear.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kylo Ren &amp; Rey, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey &amp; Ben Solo, Rey &amp; Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Words We Bleed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*Point a finger accusingly at Fran*</p>
<p>"THIS IS YOUR FAULT."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Uhm. Hi. You can blame Fran (aka GalacticIdiots) for the <a href="https://twitter.com/galacticidiots/status/1279764995333595136">prompt</a> based on Tina's (aka NeonEvangelista) <a href="https://twitter.com/NeonEvangelista/status/1279762928107958272">mood board</a>. I'm telling you, hopping on the Twitter fandom train was a horrible, amazing idea.  Y'all are too creative and too tempting for my own good. If you see me trying to say I'm going to write off another prompt, hit me over the head with an old shoe and remind me I have <em>'responsibilities'</em>.</p>
<p>Leave it to me to take a cute, fluffy prompt and turn it into something twisted and dark. But my inner darkness is fluffy too, so I hope you'll enjoy my play on a desperate, sweet romance in a broken world.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <a href="https://imgur.com/7KkKjKa">
    
  </a>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The dream starts the same every time. Rey’s wandering through a dark set of woods, and the barest glint of moonlight casts strange shadows through the canopy overhead. Something tickles at the back of her mind, warning her to fear the path ahead. But she carries on, following the trails made by creatures more agile than herself. She stumbles once and rights herself, but the second time she’s less successful. Her knee hits the dirt, a rock slicing open her knee. Fighting back tears, she forces herself to stand and carry one.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And just like every dream before, she’s small. Only about six years old. She’s alone, and she doesn’t remember how she came to be alone. But she continues to follow the path, tracing along its way until she happens across a holloway. The trail dips down into its entrance, the trees overhead forming a glittering canopy of silver and green.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But just as she’s about to follow the trail down, something catches her eyes. Its delicate, silvery lavender wings shine in the moon’s light with their own luminous iridescence. A midnight butterfly, it seems. She smiles, following its path with little thought. It twists and turns around the trees, leading her on a merry chase. But after one too many turns, it suddenly disappears.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Breaking as if from a daze, Rey glances around to see she’s left the small path she’d been following. Suddenly terrified, she begins to scramble in the brush wildly in search of the trail. But as she turns, the trees start to blur together in a sea of twisting branches until she begins to realize it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s lost.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She cries, falling to the soft and damp floor of the woods. The chilled night air begins to take its toll, making her shiver. She curls in on herself as she sobs, her body beginning to shake more violently the longer she lies there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s not sure how long she lays there crying and shaking before it happens. The butterfly reappears, fluttering about her face. It alights on her nose for a moment, then her lips, before its wings flutter again, and it lands on her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Strangely, a warmth begins to spread from the butterfly’s place on her shoulder. It rolls over her, slowly covering her body until the shaking subsides, and her mind grows calm. And it stays that way until the light of the sun begins to crack through the trees and voices start to shout. And as someone lifts her into their arms, the butterfly flits away toward the holloway she can now see is just a few feet away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then...she wakes up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey’s had the same dream since the day a pair of hikers found her lying on the forest floor when she was six years old. Or, at least, that’s how old she’s told them she was. The doctors had agreed on the age based on their exam, so according to the state of Washington, she was now twenty-four years old. Which meant she’s been dreaming of the forest and strange butterfly for eighteen years. It doesn’t come every night. Sometimes she’ll go months without it touching her consciousness. Other times, it haunts her every night.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She knows, objectively, what the dream is about. It’s the start of her memories, everything else before it a static storm of emptiness. She doesn’t remember her life before that night, doesn’t know who her family is or where she’s from. The only thing she’s been able to tell the police officer who’d carried her out was that her name was Rey, and she was six years old.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There had been endless “talks” in the weeks that followed. The questions by police and social workers had begun to blur together until one day they stopped. She then bounced from foster home to foster home until she was eighteen, no one wanting to adopt the scrappy brunette girl with no family history and no social skills. And when she’d aged out, she’d moved into an apartment bordering the edge of the woods she’d been found in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Some strange part of her was sure her family would return. She’d often walk to the woods to sit and wait for them, traveling as long as an hour from one of her foster homes to reach the woods. It was one of the many complaints that her homes reported to her social worker; that she was prone to wandering. And she never told them where she went for fear they’d make her stop.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Moving to her small apartment had been a relief, knowing she’d now always be able to wander the woods when she pleased. She was smarter now than her younger self, carrying a ball of red string with her to find her way back. Never again would she let herself become lost in the maze of branches and thorns again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They hadn’t come for her yet, but who was to say they never would?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes she thinks she catches glimpses of the butterfly from her dream in her waking hours. Usually, it’s in the woods, but sometimes it’s on her walk to work or a stroll to the supermarket. But no google search she’s ever done has produced a match for the creature from her dreams, so she chalks it up to tricks of the light and an exhausted brain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And sometimes, she thinks it may just be a sign of looming insanity.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey’s morning starts as it often does: trying to remember her place in the waking world. She rubs away the sleep from her eyes, reminding herself the woods of her dreams and the strange silver butterfly are figments of her imagination. She pulls back the covers, pulling herself upright with a groan. She glances at the alarm clock that’s quietly chirping at her to alert her that it’s time to get up, knowing the time she’ll see but still cursing it. Not for the first time, she questions her decision not to purchase a car. But the money she saves by walking every day goes toward the search for her parents. She’s only six months away from having enough to hire a private investigator, and she’s not about to cop out now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She showers quickly before pulling on one of her many worn and torn jeans and a shirt with the logo “Plutt’s Garage” emblazoned on the chest. She pulls her hair up into a bun on top of her head, her face clean and bare. There isn’t much point in doing anything other than taking care of herself, because there is no point in trying to impress anyone or build relationships. Her life, her world, is temporary. Because as soon as she finds her family, she’s gone. And the fewer attachments she has, the less she’ll have to handle before she gets to leave.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even Plutt’s, the mechanic shop she’s been working at since she was fourteen years old, isn’t worth staying around for. She’s not even an official employee considering he’s been paying her under the table her entire career there. She could disappear without a word, and there’d be no repercussions.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She snags a granola bar and yogurt smoothie drink on her way out her door, slinging her back over her shoulder as she locks the door behind her. She stuffs the wrapper from the granola bar in her pocket as she walks, chewing lazily as she begins her thirty-minute walk to work.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As usual, she’s the first to arrive. She unlocks the shop and turns on the lights, then starts checking the dropbox for the keys and service request cards that match the new cars parked out front of the shop. She then checks the messages, writing down the names and notes for their office manager to call back and schedule. She’s just about to carry the keys and service slips to the garage portion of the shop when Plutt comes in, seeming more irritable than usual.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unkar Plutt is a bald, large man with a wide-set face and a gut reflective of years spent drinking. His disposition is typically unpleasant, his demeanor crass and belittling. The only reason Rey’s tolerated him this long is the fact he pays her in cash. But today, there’s a strange look on her face that she already knows doesn’t bode well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches over the counter to smack a stack of bills down in front of her. “Your pay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey raises an eyebrow at him. “Payday isn’t until next week.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s for everything up until today,” he rasps. “I’m cutting you loose, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey’s jaw nearly hits the ground, and panic claws up her spine. This </span>
  <em>
    <span>cannot</span>
  </em>
  <span> happen. Not when she’s so close. Not when the economy is so utterly screwed, and there are no other jobs available. She’s been saving this money for a decade. Breaking down at the finish line is unacceptable.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t,” she rasps, “Plutt, I’ve been here the longest of anyone.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He grunts at her. “Kid. These other guys have families, and they need the hours more than you do. You’re a scrawny little girl working in a shop for men. You’ve been useful, but that usefulness has expired.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You dick,” she snarls, snatching up the cash instinctually before her words set him off enough to make him take it back. “I give you ten years of my life, and this is how you repay me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unkar shrugs. “Tough luck, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that’s it. Plutt doesn’t say a single other word to her as he walks away from her, slamming his door with what she’s sure he hopes is an air of finality.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But Unkar misjudges Rey, the same way he’s underestimated her as long as he’s known her. There’s nothing she can do about him firing her. She can’t even file for unemployment because there are no official records of her working there. But Rey’s not about to let that foul man ruin one more thing in her life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She runs over to the safe under the back counter, turning the dial just so until the door clicks open. She snags the bags for the last few days of deposits, plus the petty cash and the daily change supply. Since the office manager isn’t here yet and hasn’t turned on the office security cameras, he’ll have no proof of what happened. She stuffs all the money in her bag, then beats it out as fast as she can.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She knows it’s stupid. It’s not as if Plutt doesn’t know where she lives, that he won’t just come for her himself. And she can’t disappear, because that would mean leaving the woods behind. And she can’t do that until she finds her parents.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t realize she’s crying until she can’t breathe to run anymore, her chest heaving and shoulders shaking. She slows, raising a hand to rub at her snotting nose in disgust. She could mope and whine, asking how her life turned out like this, but she knows why. She knows how. And it’s entirely a mess of her own making.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey doesn’t go home but instead detours into the woods in search of solace. She heads to a familiar spot in the woods, then ties a piece of her red string around a tree. She sets off in a random direction, aimlessly wandering through the trees while her vision stays blurred through a screen of tears.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s never found the holloway from her childhood again, no matter what direction she looks or how much she tries to strategically map out a search pattern. And so, when she stumbles upon it today, her sobs are clenched tightly in a stop as she takes in the wide-open tunnel of greenery in front of her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It looks different than she remembers from her dreams, and yet somehow the same. In the morning light, the green of the trees is brighter, and the sparkling of the sunlight should be setting off a cheery atmosphere. But the longer she stares into the pathway of the holloway, toward the barely discernible end, she begins to feel an uncomfortable sensation of excitement and fear creep along her skin. Her vision begins to blur again, even though her tears have ceased. The image before her swims and swirls, and she reaches up to rub at her eyes to clear them. When she looks back again, the holloway looks precisely as it should.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey’s vision is caught by a glint of silver that she almost ignores out of habit. But being in the woods where it all began, in the last place where she’d seen it in its entirety, makes her look. It’s not a tickle at the corner of her vision or a flash of color across her eyes. It’s full and real. To her surprise, there on a fallen branch laying on the soft loam beneath her feet...is the butterfly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She crouches down slowly, still expecting the insect to vanish like a mirage as she moves toward it. But it stays there, gently giving its wings a slight flutter. She eases herself over, letting her knees sink to the ground as she crawls over to the delicate creature perched there. The closer she gets, the more she begins to realize why she couldn’t find anything on her internet searches for the butterfly. Because it’s not a butterfly. The closer she looks, she realizes what she’s actually looking at is a large moth. The wings are silver toward the body that morphs into a lavender tone halfway across the wing until they reach the edges, fading to a nearly barely opaque black. More black markings decorate the wings, and two orange eyespots are mirrored on each side of the wings. The antennae are a feathered black, and they twitch as the moth attempts to find its bearings.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey’s so captivated by the moth’s beauty that she almost misses the most tragic thing. One wing seems to be torn, held at an awkward angle to its side. She’s caught off guard when she has the sudden urge to sob at the sight, to see something so beautiful broken in such a finite way. She knows she should leave the moth to nature, but some primitive urge tells her she cannot under any circumstances leave the moth to its doom.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Without a thought, she holds her hand out to the moth. She expects it to attempt to flutter away, but strangely it seems to move toward her hand to investigate. She feels its antennae first brush her hand, then its front legs touch her hand. Slowly, it crawls into her hand and seems to almost sag in relief.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trying not to overthink the fact that a strange moth just climbed into her hand, Rey gently places her other hand over the top to keep the insect secure as she follows the red thread back. She doesn’t bother to ravel it up, telling herself she’ll come back later to retrieve it once she’s seen to the moth. Navigating the trail takes a painfully long time, and she nearly lets out a yelp of triumph when she finally reaches the borders of the wood. She says a prayer the moth doesn’t attempt to flutter away when she has to remove her top hand to pull her keys from her pocket. To her relief, the moth obediently stays in its station on her palm as she opens the door, and doesn’t do more than give its wings another flutter as she carries the creature into her bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carefully, she angles her hand to encourage the moth to step onto the comforter on her bed. It doesn’t bother at first, and she has to give her hand a small shake to get it to move. The wings offer a halfhearted flutter, and she can almost swear she feels its pain as it lands on the bed. She pulls out her phone, snapping an aerial photo of it sitting there on her bed. She does a reverse image search on google, and she’s shocked to get a hit.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The photos she finds as matches to hers are clearly the same moth she has lying on her bed. The lavender color is a little different, but everything else is the same. But once she starts reading, she starts to get more and more confused. According to the internet, the moth on her bed is a Ghostly Silkmoth...native to Madagascar. Considering Madagascar is about as far away from Washington as possible, it doesn’t seem right that the moth would be wandering around the woods near her home. The possibility occurs to her that this could be someone’s pet or part of a collection of some sort.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In her search, the number for the local butterfly conservatory appears. Deciding that might be as appropriate a place as any to start to get some answers, Rey hits the link for the number and confirms the command to innitiate the call.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mercy Butterfly Conservatory, this is Meg,” comes a pleasant voice. “How can I help you?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhm,” Rey starts, brimming with intelligence, “I know this is going to sound strange. But, I found an unusual moth in the woods near my home, and it has a damaged wing. I looked online, and I think...I think it might be something called a Ghostly Silkmoth. And I’m not sure how to help it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand,” the woman says with bland perkiness. “I can see if someone in our lab is available to speak with you. Can you hold, please?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey agrees and is treated to a few minutes of elevator music before another human pops back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello,” comes a voice that, while still in customer service mode, is pitched lower than Meg’s. “My name is Danielle. I understand you think you found a Ghostly Silkmoth?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Rey agrees, she’s treated to a patronizing tone that she abhors.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ghostly Silkmoths are found exclusively in Madagascar,” the woman explains. “Finding one here would be quite impossible.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>understand</span>
  </em>
  <span> that,” Rey shoots back. “But I’ve looked at several photos, and I know what I’m seeing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me tell you what,” the woman says. “If you have a way to email over a photo, I’d be happy to take a look for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey jots down the email address the woman rattles off then hangs up. Muttering to herself, she loads up her email app and drafts a brief message with the photo attached.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In a matter of three minutes, her phone is ringing again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I need you to tell me exactly where you found this,” the woman says without preamble.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now</span>
  </em>
  <span> the woman wants to talk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey explains the story of finding the moth in the woods and the injury to the wing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you give me your address?” the woman asks. “I’d like to send someone out there to collect it. We can bring it back to the lab and examine it. We need to figure out what it’s doing here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey bristles, panic rising in her. They...want to take it? She was really just looking for basic care instructions, and maybe some advice about the wing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d... I’d like to keep it,” she says meekly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid that’s just not feasible,” the woman says. “By all intents and purposes, that moth is an invasive species. We need to know more about it. The markings are slightly different from the Madagascar variation, we may need to do some genetic testing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Genetic testing. Rey glances down at the moth on her bed, and she feels almost violently ill. The delicate creature had seemed so significant in the woods but now looks tiny and fragile sitting on her bed. And she knows, without a doubt, that there’s no way they’ll be able to do any test without torturing and killing it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Rey says. “If you can just tell me what to feed it, I can-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ma’am,” the woman says, tone growing stern. “I’m going to be notifying the Department of Natural Resources. They’ll want-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rey ends the call without another word.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Okay. So. That didn’t go exactly as planned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This morning, Rey was going to work. Now, she’s jobless and obsessing over a bug.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not how she thought it would go.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, Rey reaches down to brush a finger gently down the spine of the moth. It jumps against her touch, almost seeming to flinch away. She falls dejectedly to the bed beside the moth, letting her face fall, so she’s staring at it. The moth turns to her, and she’s surprised to feel like it’s actually looking at her. It seems to cock its head to the side, then slowly crawls over to her. It alights on her nose first, then to her lips.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just like in her dream.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It sits there, wings buffeted with each of her breaths, for several minutes before finally fluttering back to the bed beside her. She continues staring at it, watching as it shifts around on the comforter as if trying to get its bearings. But the longer she observes it, the more she feels her vision beginning to blur again. Just like it had at the holloway, she feels things swirl and shift before her. It’s more intense than before, and she feels as if something in her is simultaneously dissolving and growing. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> this strange creature? And why does she feel such a strong connection to it all of a sudden?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a sign of just how isolated she’s made herself from her fellow humans that she’s developing an emotional attachment to a bug.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She rubs her eyes just as she had before, but it doesn’t seem to change anything. If anything, the shifting and changing grow further until the colors begin to blur together in a cascade. And just when she thinks she’s officially crossed over the line into insanity, there’s a bright flash of dark purple light that blinds out everything.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And when the light clears, the moth is gone. And in its place is a man...a man who’s holding an injured arm tightly against his chest.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>I'm on <a href="https://simplyabbeycat.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/abbey_simply">Twitter</a>! If you're looking for some creative inspiration, <a href="https://twitter.com/galacticidiots">galacticidiots</a> posts delicious Twitter prompts on the regular. But if you don't want the temptation, stay away. I wish someone would have warned me!</p>
<p>I'm hoping to update this weekly as long as I can stay on schedule with ItIB. </p>
<p>Is anyone else writing a fic inspired by Fran's prompt? Let me know!</p>
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